


Building Blocks

by literalBS



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, M/M, in which john and dave are adults and have children from previous relationships i guess, non-sburb AU, thnx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalBS/pseuds/literalBS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been building up this wall for so long that you're not quite sure you're ready to let anyone break it down. The last time you let that happen you were rendered womanless making shitty movies from your cheap ass apartment only for them to haunt you for the rest of your life with a kid who thinks he's better than you in every way. The sad part is he probably is and you're in dire need of someone who can help take your breath away and turn you into an optimistic freak of nature with one flick of his wand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nasty habbits- Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of started this in the middle of one of my frees and surprisingly liked it. I need to learn not to drabble though ; o ;

_‘Dying is a thing I think about frequently. What happens once we die? Where do we go? What do we do? When I think of dying I think of falling. Tumbling down the rabbit hole is slow mo’ with my arms pushing backwards as my stomach pushes up, tumbling and doing somersaults unwillingly until I hit the bottom. That’s if there even is a bottom. I mean, why would the bottom even be a thing if you were dying? Wouldn’t that defeat the point? You’re already dead. I guess using the rabbit hole as an analogy doesn’t make very much sense either as it suggests that you’re falling to get to somewhere, which you’re not. You’re just… falling.’_

“Very poetic.” The woman in the armchair opposite you says, tapping her pencil against her charcoal lips as she stares down at the flyleaves of your diary like a teacher with your test paper. “The nightmares haven’t gotten any better for you then?” She asks, finally shooting you a softened look of violet.  
You twirl your sweaty thumbs against each other, shaking your head and popping your tongue as if it’s no big deal.  
  
You were admitted to this woman after the doctor deciphered that the constant night terrors could be a contributing factor to unbearable amount of stress way back when the very same woman had been pregnant with your son and daughter. Apparently this woman can help; she can cure your problems and replace all of the bad things in your head with good things. That’s what you thought too for a short period of time before she told you that you and your insignificant issues were too much for her to take care of on top of her aspirations and children. You’d have liked to have said that the break up wasn’t a big deal and that you were happy to get rid of Rose but the truth is, you weren’t; you continued to be miserable at best, still pissing yourself in your sleep like a baby and crying out for someone who was never there.  
You both agreed to share the custody of your children and by that you apparently meant totally forgetting that the other one existed. Dirk has already grown beyond his years and the kid’s only ten. He tucks you in as if your roles had been reversed at birth and makes sure you’re comfortable but even still…  
  
“Dave, we agreed post the initial meetings that we wouldn’t let our past relations effect these sessions. I have apologized for what has formerly occurred in our personal life and I would appreciate a direct answer as opposed to the odd nod and ambiguous noise.”  
You shut off at the word “apologize” as that is never a thing that happened. You’re sick of this; waiting for advice from a woman who abandoned you for all of the exact same reasons eleven years ago. You’re thirty, not three- you’re sure you’re old enough to deal with stupid bad dreams on your own which is why as soon she finishes talking you swing your feet over the edge of you clique patient chair, grab your rucksack and exit the door without a word, making sure to cross your name out of her appointment book as you do so.

You’re not sure why it’s only now that you are realizing that anything anyone ever said about therapy sessions are complete and utter bullshit.  
It doesn’t help to talk to anyone. Especially not Rose. She’s cynical and sarcastic and seems to have a habit of pretending that she knows exactly what you are going through.

 

* * *

 

You take the scenic route back home. You’re not in any rush. Dirk mentioned something about spending the night at a friend’s and you’ve never been happier to get rid of him not that you mind the little guy, you’re just in need of a break: a breather. You just need to shake your bones of this feeling of falling before you hit the ground.  
The park is relatively quiet aside from the odd old couple passing through to feed the ducks. It looks sort of relaxing but equally as dumb so you don’t think you’re going to join them anytime some.

Slipping your fingers up you shades you rub at your eyelids until they’re red, exhaling deeply.  
Maybe you’re over reacting. That sentence is ironic in itself considering you usually tend to have a habit of under reacting. You throw your good friend irony the bird, just for this once and tell yourself it’s okay to over react sometimes.

“Is this seat taken?” Asks a voice from besides you. You reply with a slow shake of the head, still lightly massaging your eyes with your fingertips. You can feel the bench vibrate a little as the man sits down with way too much enthusiasm for your liking. This time you don’t reply at all and hope he gets the picture. Unfortunately he doesn’t and proceeds to attempt to make small talk about the weather.  
“My name’s John, by the way. Kind of rude of me to start off on a tangent and not introduce myself.” You turn your face in your hands as soon as the name fits the voice. You wish you weren’t but you’re slightly star-struck. John Egbert is kind of a big deal around these parts. He’s one of those diverse magicians who can make you feel three years old again with his card tricks and fluffy rabbits in top hats, when he’s not wowing his audience with unexplainable illusions shrouded in puffs of smoke, dramatic spot lights and atmospherical mood music.  
You’re taken aback when he looks equally as surprised to see you as you do to see him.  
“Dave?” He asks, immediately adding ‘Strider’ to the end in order to drop the informality, shaking his head as he does so. “Dave Strider.” He repeats and you nod, trying to not let a small smile of pride creep its way onto your face.  
“I’m kind of a bit of a movie freak and I’d be lying if I said that I don’t sometimes browse through the local archives… “  
Local movie archives? It’s rare you actually meet someone who knows you for your underground, abstract stuff and not your Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff franchise you’d initiated on the pretenses of irony only for it to stab you in the back with overused ‘stairs’ gags and an incline of the ironic use of comic sans.  
Mr. Egbert stretches his hands over his knees, inhaling deeply as if he’s about to have an anaphylactic shock in your presence. Because of your presence. You’re flattered.  
“I can’t believe I’m actually in the presence of one of my favourite directors. Wow.”  
Favourite?  
“I call buying you dinner.” He says, apparently excited about it.

 

* * *

 

 

The walk to the café is only a little bit awkward but you figure that’s because you’re making it seem that way. You learn that John likes to talk. A lot. He tells you a lot about himself, too. Things he says that he never tells any of his other fans like how he has a daughter and a nephew who he tries his hardest to keep out of the way of the press because that sort of pressure is a lot for a ten year old to deal with. He also tells you about why his first marriage didn’t work out and that he’s not really looking for another relationship because he’s pretty much married to his work, you tell him that that’s the best way to go and that women suck and he agrees, twisting his face up in a sort of disgusted expression before letting out a little hearty laugh. You all most follow with the on comings of a smile but you’re too hard-boiled and stoic to let anything like that happen. Especially around people you barely even know.  
“It was actually my dad that got me into magic.” John says after a short five second silence as the both of you focused on crossing the road. “We used to play pranks on each other non-stop and one day he showed me a card trick and I was just in awe…” He pauses for a moment, clacking his tongue and staring off at the sky as you watch the side of his face with a softened expression. You wish you could relate but your father was never a man of whom you really knew- to the point where you’re not even sure if he was actually your father. He was mysterious and lacking any conventional parenting techniques, he’d sometimes invite you up onto the roof to test out his new ‘choice blades’ and occasionally drop you off in the middle of no-where so you’d have to find your own way back- he called it ‘training for the real world’ but you can’t help but think it was all a ploy to get rid of you.  
“My dad was the best, but he kind of got really sick last year… and, well…” He ‘ums’, contemplating whether or not he should be saying anything but stops when he figures out that you’ve probably already guessed.  
“Hey dude, you’re snatching the hearts of a million swooning people here with your nostalgia soaked performances because of that guy. He did good.”  
John flashes you a genuine smile and in that moment you feel as though you may have finally found a person who can help without judgment or humiliation. A person who actually cares.


	2. Nasty habits- Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried

You almost walk straight past the coffee shop but John pulls you back by the wrist before you walk off into the road. It’s small and was obviously once one of the semi-detached houses that line the street in uniform, the only difference being the stretched out windows on both floors that display the name ‘Butter Bean’ and a flashing neon sign that says ‘open’.  
The inside is pretty quaint too- furnished with a polished wooden floor and oak tables with matching chairs. The walls are decorated with homely wall paper, an olive backdrop with a brown-floral front ground design that twists the whole span of the back and side walls.

John leads you to a square table in the corner. The wall beside it is littered with cut outs of printer paper displaying the few locally famous faces that have once or regularly stepped foot in the very same building, including John’s. There’s a grin on his face as per usual and he’s wearing a black shirt wrinkled over his own, ‘Butter Bean’ printed in italics across the front.?

A waitress walks by to grab your order and your nostrils are attacked with the overpowering scent of coffee and perfume.  
“Two grilled cheese sandwiches please, Vick’” John chirps for you both and the well-manicured fingers sifting through his hair tells you that he’s a regular  
.  
“Who’s your date?” She asks with a lop sided smirk, eying you up and down like you’re a fly and she’s a spider.  
“I’m actually offended. I thought you liked good movies. Geez, what happened to you?”

She studies you for a little while longer; her mouth twisting into a grimace as your face suddenly clicks in her head. She mouths an ‘oh’ at John who huffs a laugh in politeness. “Don’t be rude Vicky, this guy’s a legend. I don’t think you understand.”  
She tuts and says “obviously not.” Still kind of scowling in your direction as if she’s dragged her shoe through something unpleasant.  
“Well whatever, what can I get you ladies to drink?” There’s obviously something going on between these two but you’re not going to dwell on it. You barely know the guy.  
“Hit me up with some of that sweet ass aj, sitting over there.” You nod to one of the overpriced glass bottles situated in the open fridge. It’s a little extravagant compared to your usual junior’s juice pouch but John made a point that he's not going to starve you.  
The waitress' smirk grown making you feel increasingly more uncomfortable when she flips navy locks behind her shoulder as she turns on her heels to fetch your orders.  
John turns to smile at you, chin propped up on his palm and eyebrows raised as if he’s waiting for you to say something but when you do he flinches.  
“She your gf?”  
He splutters, bursting out into a hearty laugh of which you’re almost eighty-percent sure is forced.  
“God no! She’s an old pal from college. I guess there used to be some kind of mutual crush but she’s a little too rude for me.” He continues to chuckle under a hand, shaking his head softly.

You both take as long eating as you possibly can, talking about trivial things such as your favourite movies and songs. You're a little bit offended by John's taste in cinema but the scrunch of his nose when you scroll through a list of bands he's probably never heard of makes up for it.  
He's a funny guy and you think you're lucky to have had the happenstance of meeting him. You sort of feel like you've fallen back to sleep in the middle of the day because time feels so distorted; you're having a hard time distinguishing the interval between storming out of another vomit inducing therapy session and meeting this guy.

He pays for your meal as promised and you thank him with a cool guy nod and flick of the hand as you start off down the street.  
"Hey, wait!"  
You spin on your heals, eyebrows raised over the brim of your shades. "Shit dude, you know what they say... 'leave 'em wanting more'. Didn't know I still had it in me."  
He shoots you a humored and equally unimpressed look, beckoning you towards him with an index finger as if he's either about to tell you off or seduce you. "We should probably do this again some time."  
"Sounds like a plan." You agree, already etching your number onto the barely used napkin you stuffed in your back pocket. He taps it into his surprisingly shoddy cell and grins, baring goofy teeth and all and with that you part ways, shouting jokes at each other about how much of a successful first date that was and how you need to watch his hour long special tomorrow at eight until you're totally out of each other's view.  
Only it would have been a way more effective joke if you hadn't had returned home later that evening only to set 'Egbert's Emporium' to series link. It's ironic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave's son is an arrogant ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im having a difficult time using the hometuck skin and applying to to my chapters, so if anyone would like to help send me an inbox at caliponponweiweiwei.tumblr.com

It’s almost hard to believe that only a week ago you had stormed out of a therapy session, sick and tired with life only to fall into the hands of one of the most inspirational men of your time. You’re still not entirely sure why but that doesn’t stop you from spending your entire Saturday in front of the TV indulging yourself in an Egbert marathon.

  
“What’s up with you?” You twist your head back, raising your brow above your askew shades at the ten year old leaning against the door frame like a concerned guardian.  
  
“You’ve been sat there on your boxer clad ass all day, aimlessly throwing cheese balls into your mouth and swigging back aj like you live off the shit. Not to mention that creepy as fuck grin.”  
His face stays entirely still save for the emotionless moving of his lips as he speaks, the usual arrogant pang in his voice as if he knows better than you ever will.  
“Find a good prostitute?” Before you can even retaliate and tell him to go to his room like the good parent you are he’s pushing aside the chips that didn’t quite make your mouth and taking a seat.  
  
“Who’s this geezer?” He asks, nodding towards the TV monitor at John who’s cracking up a room of at least a thousand with some cheesy jokes and terrible juggling. Juggling has never been his strong point.  
  
“Who’s this geezer?” You repeat, eyes fixated on the screen. “Only John ‘motherfucking’ Egbert. His shows are pretty much the dog shit of magic. Thought I’d raised you better than this Di-Stri. Thought you’d recognize an ironic legend when you saw one.”  
He’s silent for a moment as if he’s thinking but you know he’s not. He’s too smart for thinking.  
  
“You’re lying.” He tells you matter-of-factly. A breath sticks in your throat but you’re not surprised he noticed.  
  
“How’d you guess?” You test realizing that there’s no point in trying to hide anything from him.  
The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a subtle smirk and he slowly shakes his head, standing up again and ruffling your hair as he makes his way back into his room. “You’ve gotta get out more.”  
  
You flip him the bird but he’s already long gone. He’s like that. Here in an instant and gone in a flash. You’re used to it but only because there’s no use in beating yourself up over having a son who’s psychologically older than you. You’re cooler than him, anyway.

Four and a half hours and seven bags of Doritos later, you’re asleep on the couch. Dirk made the effort to leave his cave of electronic disasters and masterpieces to cover you in a fleece blanket and remove your shades so they don’t fall off of your face and smash against the laminate when you toss and turn in the night.

_“There’s no escaping David.” I’m being tossed into a pit. A bottomless pit from what I can see from up here. I’m tangled in roughly a mile of red chords that wind around my feet and tug at my fingers. They hurt. I can’t see anything sharp but I’m bleeding one hell of a lot from every inch of my skin. It hurts to breath. It hurts to move. It just hurts. I give up on trying to break free because even when I do I always end up back here. The chords break and I’m falling again. My lips are stitched up and I can’t scream but I want to scream so fucking bad. I want it to stop. I want it all to stop._

_**Bzzt.** _

You wake up in a cold sweat, dry saliva cracking at the sides of your lips as you inhale deeply as if you’re resurfacing after having being held under water for longer than you’d ever choose to. It takes effort to peel your skin from the faux leather but it takes even more effort to dig your phone out from in-between the couch cushions in the fuzzy, broken light of static emitting from your TV that tells you that you’ve rolled onto the remote at some point during your slumber.  
You unlock your phone clumsily, squinting against the light as it makes your head throb.

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER** : hey, cool guy.

There’s no name to the number but it isn’t difficult to tell who it is. You can almost hear the sarcasm.

 **DAVE:** what are you doing texting me at this ungodly hour houdini

Even when texting you have a bad habit in sending messages broken up instead of as one sentence. You figured it would make things easier to read considering auto-correct had it out for ruin your life and you’ve got better things to do than correctly punctuate every goddamned thing.

 **DAVE** : aurora’s trying to get her beauty sleep

 **JOHN:** okay, well your prince is gonna leave you to it in a sec’ but vriska kind of cancelled on my big gig tomorrow and she wanted me to give her ticket to you.

Vriska’s the girl from the coffee shop, right?  
You put off responding or as long as possible because you don’t want to sound too eager. What is she doing giving you her ticket anyway? You’ve spoken to the guy once.

 **JOHN:** It’s a back-stage pass, if you’re interested?  
He pushes, sending the message twice when you don’t respond after another couple of minutes and passing it off as an accident.

 **YOU:** vip? Sounds tempting  
 **YOU:** ill be there  
 **YOU:** there better be a limo  
 **YOU:** and champagne

He doesn’t respond after that and you figure it’s because he’s probably drifted off to sleep.  
You nuzzle back into your sheets, setting your phone on the coffee table just in case and shut your eyes, ready to explore the bottom of that pit.


	4. Show Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im the worst at naming things

Your name is John Egbert and tonight is your fifty seventh performace and counting. Of course your profession can get tedious at times, especially when having to balance work and family but you can stand up tall and happily say that you're one of the few people on this planet that work in a job they love.

Tonight you arere performing for a more 'mature' audience, for lack of a better word, so you have decided to ditch your usual childish antics and dramatic finales for something a little more laid back and relaxed.

You can hear muttering from behind the curtain as your name is introduced by the owner of the venue -not that there's any need- and you wonder whether your friends are here to support you; especially Dave, though you're still finding it difficult to refer to him as a friend considering you've only ever had a proper conversation with him once.  
You brush off the thought and inhale deeply because even though you've done this fifty six times prior to this night you can still always find room to be nervous. Thankfully though, the crowd is only small and consists of around thirty people.   
You can only spot Vriska so far, sat at a table in one of the far corners of the room. She lifts her hand up to give you a quick wave and you throw a subtle nod in her return.

The show finally kicks off when you produce a boquet of flowers from your left sleeve, it's a pretty text book trick but the crowd seems to love it, especially when you hand the boquet over to a particular silver haired lady in the front. You flash her a wink and warn her husband that he better keep an eye on her otherwise you may just have to snatch her up. The woman fans her face with her program and plays along, treating you as though you're some sort of modern day Cassanova.   
By this time you can see that Dave has joined the audience having taken up a free seat on Vriska's table. You'd have liked to have thought that he was watching and maybe even enjoying the perfomance but evidently he was far too busy on his phone.

Twenty minutes later brings you to the end. The audience gives you an applause as you bow. Professionally you milk their enjoyment for a controlled amount of seconds and thank them all graciously for watching,  
After the curtain closes you make your way back stage, an onsite assistant rushing over towards you to dab the sweat and powder from your face with her cloth. You'd like to argue that it isn't makeup but anyone else would say that it is. It just enhances your features in the glaring light of the stage!

As expected Vriska is waiting by your dressing table. Somehow being one of your best friends and all she has magically gained access to backstage no matter where you perform. You're not sure how and when this actually happened but you can't really say you're all that surprised.

"Good show." She says but the smile tugging at her blue painted lips tells you that it could have been better. There's no need to take it to heart though because anyone with eyes could see that the crowd loved you tonight.  
Humbly you thank her anyway, packing you props into a little tote bag.

"Mind explainin why your date seemed so surprised to see me?"  
You cock your eyebrow in question.

"The stray you picked up the other day and brought back to the cafe." She continues and you roll your eyes in realization as it clicks in your mind. 

"His name is Dave and last time I checked he wasn't my date."

She chimes at you tauntingly. "Doesn't answer my question."

"Well I figured he'd be "too cool" for magic shows so I told him that you weren't coming so you gave me your old ticket and he could have it." For some reason when you initially thought out the plan it hadn't registered that either way Vriska was still going to be there.

"Scamming a man for his money... I'm impressed." Her hand proudly slaps against your back and you snort at her.

"It's not a scam if I give him the money back the next time I see him." She rolls her eyes at you muttering 'pushover' under her breath as you both head outside.  
It's nearing midnight by the time you get home even though you left the house almost seven hours ago. You're tired and are just about ready to fall to sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow but not until you do a quick check of the house.   
The kitchen's a mess as usual, pots and pans stacked sky high in the sink. Jane usually tries to clear up a little after baking but until she's in her teens you're more than happy to take care of the cleaning. You just need to find the time.  
You take a quick glance of her empty room on your way up to your own. Gosh, it's a mess. You find it safe to assume Jake and Jane had fun avoiding the lava flooring with various objects and forgot to pack up before heading off to Auntie Jade's for the night.  
You've decided that tonight you're going to sleep in your underwear as a reward for such a tiring performance. Cotently, you nestle down into the bedsheets but before you can doze off peacfully you turn on your phone for the fist time all evening.  
Five missed calls and fourteen text messages. All from Dave.

Dave: ok so i think im at the right place  
Dave: idk i see a bunch of giezers hanging around outside, they look like your type of crowd  
Dave: id go to the doctors before that burn starts to scab  
Dave: where are you dude, jesus is literally pissing on me and it took like half an hour to get my hair like this  
Dave: ok youve obviously forgotten about me its fine im a big boy now  
Dave: i'll just buy a ticket but i hope you know im not happy about this  
Dave: i was saving up for a new toaster oven because my little shit stain of a bro thought he could just dismember our old one and turn it into some kind of death robot  
Dave: im kinda scared its gonna roll into some kind of magic fairy witch potion and grow thirty times its size before declaring war on the city  
Dave: obamas gonna be pissed and it'll be all your fault   
Dave: wth man vriskas here i thought i was getting her ticket  
Dave: wow that lil old lady there sure has got the hots for you  
Dave: her hand disappeared under the table for a sec i was kinda concerned  
Dave: w/e im gonna stop texting you now but i stg if youre not at the bar in fifteen minutes im calling ape shit on your ass  
Dave: your bitch cell keeps sending me through to voice mail what an idgit

Despite the fact that by now your eyes a barely a millimeter away from being entirely closed you decide it's for the best that you give Dave a quick call back because for all you know he could still be at the bar.

You greet him with a yawn leading him to warn you that you might swallow the phone if you're not careful.  
"Well I was just calling to tell you that I wasn't expecting Vriska to show up and that I'll give you the money the next time I see you."   
He seems satisfied with that plan as he hums into the speaker asking when exactly that's going to be. You suggest tomorrow as it's going to be your first day without rehersals in a while so he can just stop by the house and you can hand it over.  
"I have a full house, though." You warn him. "Including a dog that could easily swallow you whole."  
"I'm more of a cat person but some dog ain't gonna put me off of visiting mansion du' Egbert. But that's cool, I'll see you at your pad at around noon..."   
You're just about to give him your address when your eyes give way. You sleep awkwardly with the phone underneath your head, Dave repeating 'hello' over and over until you ear dial the disconnect button.   
Hopefully he can wait until tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> TBC because i had a really hard time closing this chapter neatly. agh it's so cliche and lame. criticism would be awesome


End file.
